


Not Quite the Terrace

by mouthwashisyummy



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: 500 - 600 word count, Depression, Gen, Mental Instability, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Unstable Relationships, what the fugck does this fic even mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27737095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthwashisyummy/pseuds/mouthwashisyummy
Summary: Boris' balcony was still a lovely place to think about not existing, despite not inhabiting the same climbing roses as his assistant preferred to be surrounded by.
Relationships: Past Habismal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Not Quite the Terrace

**Author's Note:**

> In case the tags didn't sink in, tw for suicidal thoughts/semi-abstract descriptions. In this fic Boris and Kamal have a complicated relationship, and unfortunately will not fix the romantic side. Oh, well, maybe they'll be friends again someday :"-}
> 
> P.s, don't know if this fic would count as teen or mature, that's why it's unrated.

The Habitat had successfully run its first month or so long cycle, a collection of Habititiancs walking away with confusion and one or two fewer teeth than usual. It was time for a break.

Boris Habit, the man behind all that just went down. He had something to be proud of, didn’t he? The thought lingered in his mind as he leaned over the rail of his balcony, looking up at the night sky. He was completely alone, this time. The cryptid drew in a long and aching breath, eyes tiredly drifting down to the grounds below him. He had finally accomplished something, something he actually wanted to.

Despite this, his thoughts still wandered to a place they had only gone when the last few lights in his eyes had seemed to flicker out. Oh, but it couldn’t have been _that_. He wanted to stay right here with the dandelions that grew across the carnival grounds. Observing his own feelings, it would’ve been easier in the first place, though. To have never even had to open his eyes. Permanent unconsciousness sounded blissful. The creeping vines of death had wound around his body in the past, puncturing and scratching little tiny holes with little tiny thorns; however never enough to leave more than those. 

If he jumped, things would be over, he would finally tear.

If he jumped, instability would no longer chip away at his mind until stripped to the rotting nectar of meadow flowers that were implanted deep into his skin from the time he was born. Bones would snap and blood would soak deep into the earth, malnourished and shriveled roots deep underground grasping at what was once a former life source for another organism.

If there was ever another heart who cared for him, it was Kamal Bora, though at this point the resentment that had been slowly bubbling up from years of splitting only to end up clinging back onto each other. You can’t really get more awkward than confronting your assistant after the second messy breakup between you two the night before. Boris was never great at multitasking, it’s no surprise his personal relationship affected how the two worked together. They were friends now, assistant and boss, or whatever the hell you would - or _could_ call it.

He doubted Kamal needed an anchor as much, though he also doubted that either of them had fully moved on. They weren’t even sure about their next move, if there would be one at all. All of the grief they’d put up with for each other surely wasn’t just for sideways glances and anxious half smiles. Boris was pulled from his ever so descending thoughts by a quiet breeze rustling the foliage far below him. It would be a peaceful resting place, he figured. Young flower buds were bound to bloom any day now all over the Habitat, pollen mixing with nitrous oxide to fill the air with saccharin.

Poetic, it almost seemed. For his suicide to be on the very grounds he’d worked so hard to project everything crammed in his mind. A small, small, aching, screaming overcrowded mess of a mind. Sickly that its only remotely clarified thoughts came when the urge to tip off a ledge and crash into the ground below was stronger than most days. For now, he would stay. For now, he would bite his tongue and survive off of blood specks and stinging breaths.


End file.
